Category: marriage

Catching Up

I’ve been gone for a minute. I needed Summer to regroup and repair my soul a bit. I thought I was coping well enough with my mom’s passing and with the car accident my daughter had that seriously injured my husband. In retrospect that might have been a little wishful thinking. It was a lot, all in a very short time span. I probably didn’t process either of those events very well at the time.

I miss my mom. Holy heck do I miss her. We often battled and she was a tough cookie, but I know she loved me fiercely and always had my best interests in mind, even when we disagreed over what those best interests actually were.

I have been at my (usually) happy place since mid July. In my entire life I have probably never been here for more than a week or two without one or both of my parents. Their absence has left me reeling. I have such amazing memories here with them. I’m trying to rely on those to carry me through. It helps, certainly, but the grief still comes in hard, powerful waves at unexpected times. Even the smell of the beach can bring me to tears if I don’t brace myself. I really feel a bit adrift without both of them. Not lost, just… unmoored. Like I’m trying to find where I belong now that I’m untethered from them. I’m a 53 year old orphan. That’s tough to get my head around.

I’ve had another major life change too. Handsome had to retire from his job due to his injuries from the car accident with my daughter. (I am so lucky and grateful that no one was killed. It was that bad, and easily could have been much worse.) His retirement has me losing sleep for multiple reasons. First, losing an entire salary two years before our eldest heads off to college wasn’t in the fiscal game plan. Not even close. Second, although he has been really wonderful for multiple years at this point, I do worry about him getting bored and spiraling.

Let me explain. I have a dear friend married to a lovely man. He has multiple degrees from Ivy League schools and, before he met my friend, he had an amazing work history. He gave up his last (to die for) job to move to a small Midwest city to be with my friend and he simply fell out of the job market. He went on dozens and dozens of interviews and nothing materialized. (He was often told that he was over-qualified and/or that they couldn’t pay him what he was worth – even when he was ready to take any offer.) After literally years of rejection, they decided he would stay home and she would work outside the home. Cool. I have no issue with that. But if you spend a few hours with this couple you see the mental and verbal gymnastics my friend does to make her husband feel valued and important. We all like to feel valued and important but I don’t have the bandwidth to pump someone’s ego up every day. I can’t fake not knowing how to do something so he can jump in and save the day. I need to be able to make decisions for certain things on my own without prior consultation. (Not big things, but small stuff… what doormat to buy or what flowers to plant, etc.) Most importantly, he can’t wield a credit card like a light saber when I’m the one actually paying the bill. I’ll be certifiably miserable if I have to deal with this with Handsome. I recognize that may be uncharitable and bitchy but I know myself. Valuing his contributions to the household and showing legitimate appreciation is one thing, but having I would seriously resent having to coddle him.

Fortunately, Handsome has been running his tush off shuttling children, running errands, and overseeing major construction on our home (that we contracted and paid for before the accident). He literally hasn’t had time to be bored or feel unimportant. I’m not sure how long that will continue. He has been sober since DDay, and has given me no reason (in several years) to be wary. But recovering addicts are still addicts. It would be cocky to think otherwise. I don’t know if he can find fulfillment in being a stay-at-home dad or if the absence of adrenaline rushes from work will take a toll. (His therapist jokingly told him to teach kids to drive if he’s desperate for a rush.)

These are both “new normals” that are going to take some adjustment. I’m game, but I’m also exhausted from the weight of these things on my shoulders. I know I’m still grieving. And I’ve always been okay being the primary breadwinner but being the sole breadwinner is a unique kind of pressure. It’s no one’s fault. My mom fought valiantly to stay alive and Handsome didn’t cause the car accident and had no intention of giving up his career. Things just happen. Life happens and it isn’t always filled with sunshine. I get it, but I’m already wishing 2023 out the door and hoping 2024 will bring more peace and perhaps some joy.

Questioning Karma

It may not seem like it here, but I am a reasonably optimistic person. My glass is more than half full. I have said on more than one occasion that karma would sort stuff out, so I need not worry over it. Generally it worked well for me (or for my little slice of the universe).

OW #1- Husband divorced her.

OW#2 – Husband became incapacitated so now she has to care for him 24/7 on welfare.

OW#3 – Repeatedly arrested and occasionally homeless.

It goes on and on. Karma.

And yet my own fate/ luck these last few months has been utterly awful. Or has it??

Shortly after I last posted, Handsome and my 16 yo (who was driving on her learner’s permit) were in a terrible car accident. I had to drive to the accident scene and there were 3 ambulances and two fire trucks there. Car was totaled. The car she hit was totaled. Daughter black and blue head to toe. Handsome has a lumbar fracture. Awful scene.

Then, my 90 yo mom passed away last week. She was in 3 facilities over 2 months, but was discharged to come home the day before her birthday. Six days later she had to return to the hospital with a pneumonia that killed her shortly thereafter. She was fully alert till her last breath and I was with her, holding her hand.

I really started wondering who I wronged in the universe for all these awful things to happen. Who did I wrong or betray? Was I selfish or greedy or just a general jackass? Why?

And then I took a deep breath and tried to step outside myself for just a minute. Yes, these things were all terrible and sad and stressful. (So very stressful.) And yet… there is also unquestionably good fortune in each.

My husband and daughter are alive. They can walk. Not everyone walks away from an accident like they had, but they did. Yes, Handsome is injured but he can and hopefully will heal. The car is replaceable. They are not.

I’m so very sad about my mom. She lived with me for the last 6 years. I saw her every day. I’m really missing her. But she had a good, fulfilling, long life and was in reasonably good health and had all her faculties up until the very last minute. I had her for 53 years. I know how lucky I am. Yes, she died and it hurts and I’m crushed, but I was so very fortunate to have her for my mom and to have her for as long as I did.

Maybe my karma was the good kind after all.

Showing up

I have spent hours writing here about Handsome’s faults and flaws. I do, however, want to be fair and give credit where it is due. Over the last 6 weeks my husband has shown up for me in a way I haven’t really seen in a long, long time.

When I last wrote we were in the midst of Handsome’s potential dementia/ Alzheimer’s diagnosis. We are still toiling away with that as he has received differing opinions from two cognitive neurologists and also an MRI that purports to rule out both Alzheimer’s and Vascular Dementia. Let’s just say that getting to the bottom of this is a slow work in progress. (I still think there are serious issues. He got in the car two days ago with the TV remote instead of his phone. His ability to keep track of appointments is nil too.)

In the midst of that drama, my 89-year-old mother fell and fractured her hip. She lives with us in an addition we built on our house for her, and I am her only living relative, so coordination of all of her care fell to us. It was a ten-day stay in the hospital followed by a little more than two weeks at a rehabilitation hospital. Then, she was doing great but just wasn’t quite able to come home yet. We moved her to a skilled nursing facility near our home for some additional recovery time and rehab. That seems to be where the wheels fell off the bus.

It’s a highly regarded facility but within a week she tested positive for CDiff (funky bacterial infection that causes seemingly constant diarrhea) and developed a UTI. She is dehydrated and lightheaded and is likely headed back to a hospital to get stabilized.

I try to spend about 2 hours a day with her. And maintain my full time job. And shuttle my kids to their busy Spring schedules. And take care of my mom’s dog. I would tell you that I’m burning the candle at both ends, but there is no candle left. I don’t think that I have been this frazzled, exhausted, and emotionally spent since I brought my eldest home as a newborn.

In the midst of this, Handsome has completely stepped up to the plate. I’ve noted before that he excels at crisis management when the crisis isn’t of his own making, and that’s so true. The man has been a rock star. Our eldest gets on her school bus at 6:20AM (which is both cruel and unusual but that’s a different story). He has gotten her off to school almost every morning just to let me get an extra hour of sleep. He has played shuttle driver and defense coach and grocery shopper all on the same day. He has taken me out to dinner more nights than I can count just so I could get a decent meal and maybe a few moments to relax. He laughs at my bad hospital jokes and walks the dog before bed for me.

When I called him in hysterical tears because I snagged Taylor Swift tickets for our daughter and then had issues checking out, he calmly took over and emerged with the coveted seats. Then he did it again two weeks later when Beyoncé’s tour went on sale and I had a similar issue. (Ticketmaster is literally responsible for the record pace at which my roots are growing out this month. 👵🏻) He’s not a fan of either artist but said it was important that I would have something to look forward to this Summer.

He dishes out random hugs and has watched silly TV shows with me while I try to decompress. He runs interference with our kids so I don’t have to worry about the missing cleat, forgotten homework, or arguments over chores.

Do I wish that he had showed up like this after DDay? Of course. But I’ll take it now. Happily. It’s a much more mature and balanced support than I’ve seen before. There is no hidden resentment, no mumbling under his breath, no sighing loud and useless sighs. He’s just buckling down and helping. I’m incredibly appreciative. This feels like a partnership. As unfortunate as the circumstances are, this still feels good.

Memories (or lack thereof)

I’ve been pretty silent here as of late. It’s been a bit of mayhem but not, thankfully, anything having to do with Handsome’s SA. Nope. Just regular life nuttiness.

Our daughter fractured her spine at a school event in May. It was a terrible injury, but she is wrapping up PT next month and is healed enough to go back to sports. We are very, very lucky.

Despite being fully vaxxed, my mom and I both had bouts of Covid. Mine was quite bad. Paxlovid helped, but I was utterly exhausted for close to half of the summer. (Brother-in-law’s new GF did not appear on my vacation, so that was good.)

Then we had bats in our house. INSIDE the house in the living space. My son and I ended up going through the full protocol of rabies shots. He needed them because a bat was in his room while he was asleep. I got them because I didn’t want him to go through it alone. (I admit that I’m feeling like a shoe-in for mom of the year for that one.)

And here we are with the holidays. Time flies. I turned 53 a few weeks ago. I have a very good memory. Handsome used to as well, but not any longer. He turns 60 in a few weeks and is vibrant and healthy.

The kids and I have noticed though that his memory seems to be failing. I’m not talking about misplacing keys or a wallet. Yesterday, he couldn’t remember that I had Covid. Or that we traveled to Washington DC once I was out of quarantine. Readers, those things happened in June.

He has had disassociative periods in the past and I wondered if that was going on, but I don’t think so. This seems… more alarming (scary? serious? real?). It’s so strange. He functions just fine 98% of the time, but then something comes up and he absolutely cannot remember it. Even when prompted he only occasionally manages any recall. More often he tries to laugh off the fact that he can’t remember. I’m not laughing. I’m terrified.

He has an appointment with a cognitive neurologist in early January. Getting that appointment was quite difficult and he made the appointment himself. He doesn’t remember that.

Could this be caused by any one or more of the numerous meds that he takes every day? Yes. Could it be related to his shift work and the related sleep disruptions? Absolutely. Those two things are both fixable, but I am gravely concerned that these are early warning signs for some form of dementia.

I know it’s “fortune telling” -and uncharitable- but I’m also angry. Fear may be the underlying emotion, but I am angry too. Why? I’m angry that so many of what should have been great years were affected by Handsome’s SA and other issues. And we may now lose out on the retirement I had held out in front of me like a carrot for the last few years. I’ve watched loved ones suffer from dementia. Life becomes very small, not to mention exhausting.

We’ve had such a good year together. This just feels unfair. 💔

Unexpected Consequences

On my DDay, almost four and a half years ago, my children were 8 and 11. After assessing who knew of Handsome’s behavior and what the possibilities were of the kids learning anything, I made the decision not to tell them about their dad’s infidelity and sex addiction. There was simply no reason for them to know.

Handsome was drinking often before DDay. While they never saw him drunk, they did see him drink daily. We did have some discussions with the kids when he stopped drinking about why he made that decision. We also talked to them about why he went to Sierra Tucson for 6 weeks for mood disorder treatment and what he hoped to accomplish after his inpatient stay.

Here we are these few years later and, while I still believe that not telling them about his infidelity/SA was what was right for them (given our particular circumstances) I now see some unintended consequences of that decision. Namely, all of Handsome’s prior bad behavior witnessed by the kids has a reason attached to it in their minds. Dad drank too much so of course he was miserable. Dad yelled a lot because he couldn’t regulate his emotions. Dad didn’t have the meds or the skills he needed to control his moods.

Those reasons are true. But…

The cherry-picking of what my kids know vs what they don’t know means that they have some context for his behavior whereas I now see that they have zero context for mine. During an argument, my now 15 year old daughter said “It’s like you woke up one day a few years ago and just decided to be mean.” 💔 I just wanted to hold her close and say “no, darling… one day your father tore my heart apart and irreparably changed me. He took my peace, my patience, my sense of humor, and my sense of self-worth. I’m still working on getting those things back and it’s hard and sometimes I still struggle. Sometimes I fail.”

That lack of context occasionally means that I get blamed for the consequences of my husband’s actions. One child expressed frustration recently that we don’t stay home for Thanksgiving (which would be a trigger for me). I was seen as the one making that decision and thus got the blame. Handsome had to step into that discussion to say “I ruined Thanksgiving at home for mom, so blame me and not her.” They assumed he meant that he ruined it with his drinking, so the explanation was accepted. That doesn’t work so well though for things like “why is mom so quick to anger” or “why does mom startle so easily?” How do we explain my CPTSD when they only know half the story?

Telling them now is unacceptable for the same reasons that were valid 4 years ago. I’m not going that route. They just don’t need to know. It is frustrating though that in my efforts to preserve their relationship with Handsome I seem to have unintentionally harmed my relationship with them in the process. Could we just blame everything on his drinking and call it a day? Sure. It just doesn’t explain everything.

Perhaps the problem is that I’m not the right person to address the issue. Maybe Handsome needs to step up more, like he did when the matter of Thanksgiving came up. That was incredibly helpful. I don’t mind being the “heavy” with my kids when it’s needed and appropriate, but I didn’t anticipate catching flak for things I can’t really control.

On being small

I recently had an experience with my 89 year old mother that opened my eyes to a lingering side effect of my husband’s infidelity and related nonsense. Namely, I am accustomed to making myself small.

I am not small in stature or in voice. Despite that, I realized that my goal since DDay, has been to blend in with the wallpaper. The seeds were certainly sowed before then, during the period of my marriage where I was slowly manipulated into making my needs nonexistent. I was astonished though to see how it still impacts me, even when I least expect it.

Picture a stereotypical New England clam shack at a beach. Great lobster rolls and seating at picnic tables with paper towels for napkins. It’s me, Handsome, and my mom. We have a terrific meal. As we go to leave, my mom gets her legs kind of caught up on the picnic table bench. At her age, her skin is incredibly thin. She immediately has blood pouring from both shins.

To be clear, I’m not talking about a normal person slow trickle from a scrape. By your standards or mine, these were small contusions. Nonetheless, I’m talking about a blood thinner- induced river of red that was running down her shins, pooling in her shoes, and soaking the ground around her feet. We were totally silent, but yet the mere fact of the situation made every movement seem loud.

I’m somewhat accustomed to this. It happens any time my mom gets cut and the slightest bruise makes her look like she has been battered. But there we sit, in the midst of this outdoor dining area, and I found myself resenting my mom for drawing attention to us. For inconveniencing the other diners. For ensuring we were sticking out like sore thumbs. For taking up too much “space” in that moment. WTF??

Of course, like a diligent and loving daughter I was on my hands and knees in the sand trying to stop the bleeding, fielding offers of assistance, and trying to get my mom situated to get her to our car. And I was so incredibly, terribly uncomfortable. Just to pile on, I recognized the absurdity of the discomfort in the moment and it made me angry at myself. Have I really allowed myself to be shoved into such a tiny box that a minor accident makes me feel bad for inconveniencing (at worst) a bunch of strangers??

Having had some time to sit with this I can look back and note times where, during Handsome’s acting out, my whole being revolved exclusively around him and our kids. Therereally was no me. Yes, I worked, but I never really got to enjoy the fruits of that labor other than on a vacation or two. Forget self-care. I recall enduring incredible inconvenience and sacrifice to accommodate him and his needs. I recall not asking for anything, ever, because I knew my request would be discounted or ignored. I’ve written elsewhere here about the one Christmas where I got absolutely nothing from him, and the birthdays and Mother’s Days where I bought gifts for our kids to give me because he couldn’t be bothered and had probably spent all his money on skanks and sex.

When you grow accustomed to that smallness, of course you start to believe that your very existence is likely a nuisance to those who don’t even know you. Fast forward to a sunny day at a clam shack and I was turned right back into that gaslit, manipulated woman, undeserving of space to exist. And I deflected that right onto my mom. How dare she have needs, in public.

I swear, trauma is a bugger. Every time I start to feel like I’m making some progress, something like this kicks me in the butt.

I often de-escalate myself in these situations by telling myself “that was then, this is now.” I need to deliberately remind myself “this is reasonable” to counter all the residual effects of the gaslighting telling me that my needs or wants are unreasonable.

In this instance, Handsome was there, working with me to help my mom and offering reassurances to us both that it would be fine. He wasn’t focused on himself. He was present, both literally and mentally. He was trying to be helpful.

He knew I was suffering, but not why. I wouldn’t know how to explain it. I’m not sure I could make it sound logical. And yet clearly this compulsion to not take up space, not make waves or rock the boat, is still deep inside me. I want it to be gone.

A Different Kind of Trigger

My relationship with my in-laws is complicated. For the most part they welcomed me and have been kind. We’ve had some moments, but mostly with my FIL and mostly once my MIL passed and he lost his filter and I started to see the veneer peeling back on the family picture. I harbor resentment though at the trauma their alcoholism inflicted on my husband and their abject denial of same to the present. They image-managed the heck out of their lives before I married their son. That’s a little like spitting in my scrambled eggs and trying to sell it to me as a soufflé.

I’ve written before about Handsome’s Complex PTSD. While a good bit of the genesis of his CPTSD stems from his job, an equal if not greater part stems from growing up with two functionally alcoholic parents.

My MIL was already quite ill with emphysema when I met her, but she was still mobile and somewhat self-sufficient. I saw her drink, but only at dinner and usually just one cocktail. My FIL has been sober for years and, if anything, is probably now only addicted to AA. And cigarettes. And being a controlling ass. I have often thanked heaven for the 10 hours of distance between our homes.

I was at their house one day and looking for a sheet pan in the kitchen. I opened a cabinet and out spilled several fifths of vodka. My MIL wasn’t driving at the time so that means my FIL was facilitating whatever drinking she was doing. On another occasion I picked up her 24oz water bottle to wash it. To my dismay, it was filled with vodka, not water. That was about 6 months before she died.

My MIL’s death unmoored my husband. I’ve written before about how he disassociated during her funeral to the point that he convinced himself that I wasn’t there. Then he used the resentment from me not being there to “justify” his acting out. (“My wife doesn’t love me. She couldn’t even be bothered to come to my mother’s funeral.”) The fact that I moved heaven and earth to be present and that I was there, standing beside him and holding his hand, was just lost in the recesses of his mind and replaced with resentment. All of his major acting out rolled forward from there.

Now, as I write this, my FIL is in failing health. It seems unlikely that he’ll see Christmas this year, and next to impossible to believe he’ll last a year. I can already see the toll this is taking on my husband and it’s nerve wracking.

I don’t want to make this all about me. It’s not. But my experience tells me that when the time comes and my FIL passes, my husband is going to be adrift. There will be no more parental affection to chase. No one to try endlessly to impress (to no avail). No one to be a theoretical safety net.

Handsome is not the same person he was when his mom died 8 years ago. He has experience and resources and tools to bring to bear, but the loss of a parent is no small thing. That’s particularly true when you’ve spent your life trying to connect with that parent and chasing the unconditional affection you could never exactly muster from them.

A part of me wishes that Handsome would be more angry at his dad. If not for himself, then maybe for our kids who are mostly ignored by the man. He either forgets their birthdays entirely or he remembers one child and not the other. Handsome acts as though he could care less. Maybe that’s true, but I doubt it. This is the dad whose behavior – no matter how deplorable – he excuses. The dad who told Handsome he was fat (he wasn’t) which prompted Handsome to pursue months of dieting. (FIL told my size 0 daughter the same thing during a visit. Not “wow, I’ve missed you” or “I’m so happy to see you,” but “you’ve put on a lot of weight.” Jerk.) It’s the same dad who never attended a single school event or sporting event for Handsome – even though they lived only 3 blocks from the school.

Handsome enlisted in the Marines and went into law enforcement because his dad did those things. He’s been chasing attention and approval and love from his father for decades. Getting those things from his dad has always been just out of reach. Just beyond his grasp. It’s not that Handsome hasn’t earned or deserved them. His father just has no idea how to give them freely. Once it is literally impossible to get those things from his dad, I have to wonder if the longing will stop. I suspect that it won’t.

The Elephant in the Room

My husband has had a lot of therapy the last three years. We occasionally joke that he has ALL the therapists. He did an intensive with Dr. Minwalla. He did OnSite’s Living Centered Program. He did a 6+ week inpatient stint at Sierra Tucson. Since 2018 he has often had two or three therapy sessions a week of some mix between his Psychiatrist, a Somatic Experiencing therapist, and/or our CSAT.

I could never put a finger on it but I always felt as though all the professionals were missing something. He had received multiple diagnoses from different professionals – no doubt some of them were right – but I felt like we were playing wack-a-mole with pharmaceuticals (“He’s depressed? Here’s a pill. He’s got ADHD? Here’s a pill. Anxiety? Take 3 of these, etc. etc.”) Yes, between the drugs and all the therapy, he improved. Nonetheless, something was still… off. He was either happy or miserable with no in-between. His responses to daily events often seemed grossly out of proportion to whatever had occurred. He was better, but he still wasn’t “well.”

Apparently I wasn’t the only one seeing this. His psychiatrist ran him through a variety of structured and semi structured interviews, the Mood Disorder Questionnaire, and other assessment tools. His conclusion: Borderline Personality Disorder.

Cue the violins and rending of garments here. I knew that “BPD” is a highly stigmatized diagnosis. I knew that it was deemed untreatable till a few decades ago. I knew it was a serious enough diagnosis that it can trigger eligibility for SSDI benefits. I knew it presents in a very, very small proportion of the general population (<1%). In short, I knew enough to be scared. I really didn’t know much else. At the time, I didn’t realize how the diagnosis was truly the missing piece of the puzzle.

So what is BPD? Per the DSM-IV, BPD is a pervasive pattern of instability in interpersonal relationships, self-image, and affects [emotion], marked impulsivity beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:

  • Chronic feelings of emptiness
  • Emotional instability in reaction to day-to-day events (e.g., intense episodic sadness, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)
  • Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment
  • Identity disturbance with markedly or persistently unstable self-image or sense of self
  • Impulsive behavior in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating)
  • Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)
  • Pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by extremes between idealization and devaluation (also known as “splitting”)
  • Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self- harming behavior
  • Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms.

Of those 9 criteria, Handsome ticks 7 of the 9 boxes. He is not and has never been suicidal, nor has he had paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms. Everything else is squarely him. It’s so on point that I can’t believe no one saw it earlier.

What, if anything, does this change? For me the diagnosis legitimizes my experience. It gives me an explanation for some of what I’ve been dealing with. I’m not crazy or overly sensitive or any other negative description of a partner. For Handsome, once you are armed with a diagnosis you can pursue treatment. If we thought options for sex addiction treatment in our area were bad, the options might actually be worse here for BPD. (And we live in a city with multiple highly regarded teaching hospitals, including a psychiatric hospital. It’s sad.) Yes, his psychiatrist can help but dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT) seems to be the preferred method of treatment. While many therapists claim that expertise, few do it in the type of intensive outpatient program thought to be most impactful on BPD patients. The one lone program that seemed to operate locally had been shuttered due to COVID. Handsome was game to try though, even if the therapy had to look different than usual.

Slowly the various professionals started working elements of DBT into their sessions with him. Equally slowly – very slowly – it has started to help. It is an ongoing and likely long term effort. He still misreads the temperature of my emotions and those of our kids and occasionally responds … unhelpfully. At least I know where it’s coming from.

“Stop Walking on Eggshells” is a well known book for people who have someone with BPD in their life. The title is really on the nose. Living with someone with untreated BPD is like walking on eggshells or making your way through an unmarked minefield. Every day. It’s exhausting. (Probably true for the BPD sufferer as well.) I am glad to be getting off the eggshells. Glad that my footing is more secure and that my days are uneventful. I do not miss the drama and I’ll be delighted if it never returns. I realized today that it has been months (maybe 4??) since I heard my husband yell. If your spouse isn’t a screamer that might sound like no big deal, but in our house Handsome’s angry outbursts were a daily thing during his acting out. Sometimes more than once a day. I certainly don’t miss them. If naming the elephant in the room has enabled Handsome to laser focus on important issues and get some really targeted help, I’m all for it.

It hasn’t been a smooth path to this point (more to follow on that), but we are at a great place now. I love a day that is simply uneventful. Nothing remarkable happens. There is no drama. No eggshells were crushed resulting in a tirade or tears. Again, it sounds small or like it should be a given, but for a period of years that wasn’t the case in our house. I’m delighted that this is our new normal.

Intimacy Disorder in Sex Addiction

Intimacy has been on my mind a lot lately. Not the kind of intimacy found in the bedroom (although equally true there), but rather the intimacy that exists between spouses or partners. The knowing looks, the inside jokes, the pure depth of knowledge about the other person and their thoughts and dreams and wishes and traumas.

During the first 7 years of our marriage, I thought that Handsome and I were “intimate” with one another. I told him everything. EVERYTHING. I didn’t keep secrets. I thought he was the same, but after Porngate and round 1 of the Flame, I learned differently. He told me only what he wanted me to know. He image-managed quite well.

We are supposed to be doing an exercise now where we share a “transparency of the day” with each other. The share is supposed to be something that wouldn’t be obvious to the other person and, ideally, something that wouldn’t otherwise have been shared. It could be something like “It hurt my feelings when you _________,” or “It made me happy that you _______.” It could be sharing a trigger or a childhood wound or something we’re grateful for or an insight developed. The intent is to get Handsome more comfortable with intimacy and vulnerability, but I have benefited from participating too.

These things aren’t hard for me unless my share might hurt Handsome. As mad or disappointed as I sometimes get with him, there is a part of me that views him as fragile and wants to protect him. I could share all day otherwise though.

For Handsome, these shares are usually visibly painful.  A surface level share might be fine, but if he digs deeper they are obviously stressful. He’s not only unaccustomed to sharing what’s on his mind, it pushes him towards fight or flight mode. He intellectually understands that connection is the opposite of addiction, but building that bridge of intimacy feels scary and threatening. If he is like that with me, you can imagine what he’s like with others in his life. It seems such a shame to me that no one really knows him, but it is because it’s so incredibly hard for him to share himself.

There was a point where he told me that he shared “everything” with the Flame. I know now that wasn’t exactly true. He shared the private details of our life with her, for sure, but he never let her see who he really is. He heavily managed his image with her too. She had no idea he drank daily and used sex to numb himself. He never told her about his childhood traumas or his debilitating fear of abandonment. He kept his feelings of worthlessness to himself.

That’s the fascinating thing to me. I know those things… the intimate secrets. He knows that I know those things. I’m still here. I didn’t run away. I have stayed the course even when it would have made perfect sense to leave. In spite of that, it’s still hard to the point of discomfort for Handsome to be vulnerable and open up to me. I’m well- versed in the explanation: the closer we get, and the more intimate we become, the more I trigger his fear of abandonment. Intellectually I understand the concept. Emotionally, it breaks my heart. It must be very lonely to walk through life thinking, feeling, and believing that you are only safe in solitude and secrecy.

Who needs friends like this?

When Handsome returned from Sierra Tucson he initially maintained contact with about 10 people he met in the program. As of today, almost a year later, that number has been pared to 3 or 4 guys and the contact is much less frequent than it was six months ago. I predict that a year from now it will be down to one or two contacts, if he’s lucky.

There were and are some good folks in that mix. I’ve met two in person. There was one man, however, that Handsome seemed to put a lot of stock in. I’ll call him the Dude. He was (by his account) a very successful business person with a string of ex wives and a laundry list of homes and companies. The Dude went to ST to address his alcohol abuse and other process addictions. He seemed, post rehab, to be really good at dishing out questionable advice while – from what I could glean – his own life was spiraling out of control again.

Handsome shared his anxiety about the full disclosure with this guy. I think he was actually looking for support. What the Dude said to him was, “Why don’t you just draw her a map to divorce court? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of. You’re an idiot if you go through with it.” With those words, the Dude ended any possibility of Handsome doing a disclosure and triggered what would turn into a months-long stand off in our already strained marriage.

Shortly after that conversation the Dude’s life blew up quite spectacularly. He and Handsome haven’t spoken since then, but the damage was already done. The Dude planted the seeds of paranoia that the CSAT and I were teaming up against Handsome, that Handsome’s Doc #2 didn’t know what he was doing, and that I was using Handsome’s guilt to try to gain a strategic advantage in the marriage for an inevitable divorce.

It was all crap, of course. As of today, 8 months later, Handsome sees that. He also sees that the Dude wasn’t someone who he should have listened to on marital or recovery advice. Lesson learned for him. He has thoughts about why he gave this guy so much credence, but in the moment he went all in on the Dude’s advice.

It’s a lesson learned for me too. Handsome is an adult with free will, but he’s also more vulnerable to the influence of other people than almost anyone else I know. He is not a “pleaser” per se but I do see that he forum shops. If Doc #2 or the CSAT tell him something he doesn’t really like he’ll float it past his somatic experiencing therapist to see if she agrees or disagrees. Fortunately, she’s onto him about that so she can and does nip it in the bud.

This forum shopping occurred all the time during the three+ years where he was acting out with affair partners during our marriage. For example, he and I agreed on getting our daughter a cell phone on her birthday. We were in full agreement and started shopping. Days later, he came back with a laundry list of reasons why we shouldn’t get her a phone and how we’d be awful parents if we did. At the time, it was just mentally exhausting. I couldn’t figure out why he kept flip flopping his positions. I didn’t know about the third person in our marriage. I now see the tremendous influence the Flame had on him and, perhaps, how she used that influence to stir the pot in our marriage.

Handsome does recognize a lot of this. It’s challenging for him though to really acknowledge how much influence others have had on him, let alone how harmful some of that influence has been on our marriage. It’s challenging for him to see that he was often given awful advice and that occasionally the people advising him had ulterior motives. Handsome is well liked but has few close friends. With friends like the Dude and the Flame though, who needs enemies?

Aftermath – and some new trees

Handsome has been home from rehab now for over two months. The first month home was every bit as rough as my previous posts would indicate. His second month home also did not start off well.

Handsome had been living in a local AirBnB since his return from ST. I was fine with that. He was not. A few days before his stay there was due to run out (a stay which I fully expected him to extend), my son texted me at work and happily announced that Handsome was moving back into our house. You can imagine my response. He had apparently started unpacking in the master bedroom but he was clued-in enough by the time I got home that he had moved himself to our finished basement instead. We used to have a guest quarters there, but then he brought Angel Baby to our house and bedded her down there, so the bed went out with the trash. He was supposed to replace it. He never did. He was shocked to find that he would have to sleep on the floor. Oh well.

The initial days with him back in the house were like a battle of wills. The more he complained about being “banished” to the basement, the more resolute I was that (i) I was absolutely entitled to enforce my boundaries, and (ii) he’d remain in the basement till I decided otherwise. In those first days he tried everything to weasel his way back upstairs. Nope. Not happening. Apparently Doc2 told him to knock it off, and our CSAT ripped him a new asshole. It was hard for him to fuss at me when his hand-picked professionals were telling him he was in full jerk/ control freak mode.

Our in home separation was working, but strained. Under lock down conditions we were mostly managing to stay apart, but meals just weren’t working. The kids were confused, the pets were confused, and trying to stay separate seemed to cause more stress than it was worth so we resumed deliberate family meals. Smart move, it turns out, as the overall stress level in the house plummeted. The change was immediate. 

Then, very slowly, as all the professionals kept working to bring out the positives from rehab and to set aside the gunk Handsome picked up, and as his meds really started to kick in, I started to see a better version of my husband. He went out and bought an air mattress without complaint. He delved into helping around the house and with the kids. I saw signs of humility. He started coming to the grocery store getting personally invested in our lock-down meal choices. (I know that may not sound like much but pre-rehab he would leave all of the shopping to me and then sigh about what I bought. We’d have a fully stocked pantry and fridge/ freezer overflowing with healthy options and he’d complain that there was nothing to eat. No more.)

He started initiating our “Intimacy of the Day” exchanges and spending time with me, when it worked for me, just hanging out. I was actually enjoying spending time with him because he seemed healthy and “normal” again. We had CSAT sessions where we could report that things were uneventful at worst and actually going pretty well. Holidays have been fraught for us in the past, but we pulled off a lovely Easter.

Handsome also decided that he wants to do an organized full disclosure. He tells me that there is nothing new to disclose. Nonetheless, he’s (still) on Step 4 at SA and he wants to complete that step and move forward. He also knows that I’ve always been ticked that he couldn’t/ wouldn’t get through the disclosure process before. The impromptu staggered disclosures and trickle truth were devastating while they were going on and, frankly, he’s never had to sit with me or anyone else that I know of and tell them ALL of his story in one dump. He eventually seems to disclose everything, but it has been parsed out in chunks to make it…more palatable? Less likely to cause rejection?

Handsome has been working on the disclosure now for several weeks. To me, the effort matters somewhat more than content. I don’t expect that I’ll ever know everything that went on. There are likely several things he intends to take to his grave. (Remember the mysterious tampon in the master bedroom that he claimed the cat put there? Yeah, I know how it got there whether it is ever spoken out loud or not.) I am also certain that there are things he did that he legitimately can’t remember at this point. (He did a LOT of stuff and his meds have obliterated his memory.) I know how hard it will be for him to pull this off to the satisfaction of our CSAT and Doc2 though, so that effort is meaningful to me even if I wish he had been willing and able to do it two years ago before time and mood adjusting meds took their toll.

One day earlier this month, Handsome asked me to go to a local nursery and pick out some trees. (As an agriculture-related business our nurseries remain open even during the lock down.) When he asked me what I wanted last year for Mother’s Day, I requested a few new trees for our yard. Despite repeated promises, I never got them. That added  insult to injury because of his conduct on many Mother’s Days during his acting out. I was surprised when he asked me to go, but out we went and we picked out the cool Dragons eye pine (we call it the Dr. Seuss tree) in the picture above, as well as a flowering plum. To make room for them, Handsome spent hours and hours clearing two large trees in our yard that had succumbed to bore infestations two years ago. He probably could have/ should have hired someone or at least rented a stump grinder, but he put all the labor in himself to remove the old trees and stumps to make room for these new additions. I figured that they were for Mother’s Day this year. They aren’t. Handsome told me that he wants to start making amends to me and that he figured he’d start by making things right for last Mother’s Day. That was unexpected. And appreciated.

Things are getting better, slowly but surely. He is still sleeping in the basement, but the separation isn’t strained and seems to be working well. I’m not counting chickens, but I am enjoying this period of relative peace in the midst of the pandemic.

Part 4: They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said , “No, no, no”

This is the last piece of this series. (Missed earlier parts of this series? You can find Part I  here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here.) I should point out that I’m not writing in real time. These events happened several weeks ago. I haven’t seen a partner write about their loved one’s inpatient treatment though, so I wanted to cover it here in some detail. That’s particularly true since Handsome’s didn’t go as quite as planned.

Handsome’s struggle with integrity didn’t end with lying about his missed SA meeting and his drinking. A few days after our brutal CSAT session, Handsome asked me out to lunch. It was an olive branch, so I took it. This was weeks before the virus was keeping people home, but the restaurant was mostly empty. We actually had a lovely time together. During the meal, Handsome raised the issue of his communication with the older woman he met in rehab. (I’m not a complete idiot… I had already googled her and confirmed her age, long term partnership, and other pertinent facts.) He assured me that he understood how awful it was that he broke the boundary and that he was willing to cease communication if it was what I wanted or needed from him. He relayed that he thought she was smart, insightful, and that he felt she would be helpful to him in implementing what he learned at ST at home. It was the discussion he should have initiated with me before he broke the boundary.

My boundaries have always been focused on keeping me sane, safe, and secure. I know that they have seemed punitive to Handsome, but that was never their point. This woman isn’t a threat to me or my marriage. I told Handsome that as long as he didn’t communicate with her in secret and as long as he didn’t communicate with her instead of with me, I could live with him staying in touch with this one particular well-vetted woman. I explained clearly that although it was still triggering, I’d deal with that trigger if it would be helpful to him. He thanked me and said he was absolutely clear on the limitations of what I had agreed to.

A few days pass. Things were actually quite good when I’d see Handsome. He was still living at the AirBnB and miserable about it, but he was great when he was at our house. And then, quite out of the blue, he asked me a question about when our kids were going to be in summer camp. Not a broad “July or August?” kind of question (which would be typical for Handsome) but a very pointed, date-specific question. Handsome doesn’t care about those kinds of details and he especially doesn’t care about them 3-4 months ahead of time. The last time Handsome asked a similar question was during his acting out. I had been clueless and answered him. I found out later that he had promptly reached out to his brigade of whores and gleefully announced that he’d be alone for 6 weeks in the summer and started plotting. Immediately, there were sirens going off in my head. I dodged the question and changed the subject completely. It was triggering. He took one more shot at it and I again avoided answering with any specificity.

When he went to take a shower that night I checked his phone. As I feared, he had been texting with a young girl (she’s about 20) he met at ST who lives in a town that’s about 15 minutes from our summer home. I confronted him. He initially denied it. Then he admitted it. That’s when it got really fun because he tried to gaslight me “I thought you said at lunch that my ST friends were okay to stay in touch with.” But you see, I’m smarter now. I know exactly what I had agreed to. He quickly saw that the manipulation of reality that worked so well for him during his addiction is a complete non-starter now.

I specifically did not agree to this girl because, frankly, she scares me. She has serious daddy issues. She is one of the women I felt Handsome had a weird dynamic with at ST. He told me on a call that she was “like a daughter” to him. The last time I heard that about a young girl, she ended up in my house in bed with Handsome while I was out of town. He has access to this girl (via our summer home). And, to boot, unlike his other APs this one is drop dead gorgeous. She is waaaaay out of Handsome’s league… like laughably out of his league… but sex addicts don’t seem to notice such things. Nothing is improbable to them. (Hence the success of the “girlfriend experience” part of the sex trade).

And therein lies the less obvious thing that Handsome brought home from ST. His treatment – sitting in a process group of mostly women for 150 minutes a day for 5 weeks – apparently reactivated aspects of his sex addiction. All of the support, the empathy, the bolstering of morale, and yes, the 8 second hugs (not kidding) had to be like a tsunami of hits to his addict brain. After 26 months of sexual sobriety, Handsome was again communicating with a woman in secret, and when confronted about it he lied, deflected, minimized, and tried to gaslight me.  In my book, that’s a relapse.

So what was this communication? Nothing sexual. He complained to her about how he knew he had made strides at ST but that no one at home could readily see it. No one appreciated what he had done and how hard he had worked. And what gem of advice did this very sage almost-still-a-teenager have to offer. “Oh, forget about them! No matter what your family says you know how awesome you are and how much progress you’ve made. Keep being you! Don’t let them bring you down!!”

That’s just genius, right? “Eff your family. Who are they to get upset by your lies? Zheesh!”

I had three fairly simultaneous responses to this. First, I seriously considered restoring his phone to the factory settings and thus deleting all of his contacts, photos, apps, etc. (He doesn’t back up with any regularity). Then I realized that would be my trauma response… to hurt him back. Plus, he certainly knows how to buy and use a burner phone. I won’t police him.

Then I scheduled an emergency session with our CSAT. She is clearly fed up with Handsome but desperately trying to stay marriage-positive and neutral. Or as neutral as she can be when he’s engaging in mayhem.

Last, I waited several hours and then I called Handsome at work. And I vented in a way that I likely haven’t done since the very early part of 2018. I let him have ALL of my sadness, angst, anger, fear, distrust, disgust, and every other emotion I was feeling. I held nothing back and I certainly didn’t coddle him. There was nothing left to coddle, in my book. I’m not going to bend over backwards to keep him from doing something stupid when he’s already doing stupid stuff. He’s used to me being angry or sad but I’m usually reserved and dignified. This was far from that. I think the rawness of it terrified him. I dumped it ALL on him.

In closing that discussion I reminded Handsome how much love for him the kids and I had. I used the past tense on purpose. It wasn’t lost on him. I pointed out that he was sabotaging the very thing he claimed to want most in the world and that it was, indeed, all his fault. ALL. HIS. FAULT. Yes, he had a terrible childhood. It doesn’t mean he gets a free pass to torture his family now.  Yes, he has cadre of previously undiagnosed mental health issues, but he’s also had 2+ years of treatment by a virtual team of therapists and multiple intensives. At this stage in the game, it’s all on him. ALL. OF. IT.  He was sobbing by the time I was through.

And me? I knew that the re-entry from 5 weeks at inpatient would be hard. It’s a sad reality that once those intensive supports are removed, many people struggle and some completely fail. I KNEW that. I anticipated it. And yet it was still brutal to see my own husband fall on his face the way he did. I had hoped he’d be different, or even that we’d finally catch a break. Nope.

The measure of a person isn’t really how hard they fall though, it’s how they pick themselves back up. Handsome fell hard. Really hard. Watching him pick himself back up – step by step – actually gives me hope.

 

Part 3: They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said, “No, no, no”

(Missed Part 1 of this series? You can find it here. Part 2 is here.) Handsome’s last week at ST sounds like it was equal parts beneficial and stressful. He remained fully booked throughout the week and had a few sessions he was particularly moved by, including one with a trauma specialist where he reported that things finally just “clicked.” That seemed to set the stage for a lot of therapeutic progress.

At the same time, he was stressed to see many of his new friends depart from both his lodge and his process group and new folks arrive. The shifts in various group dynamics were disconcerting to him. He got a new room mate. His closest friend there left for home. Handsome also had to deal with the reality of what was awaiting him at home. Not only had he scorched a lot of earth here before he left, but I had been crystal clear that he was not coming back into our house. I insisted that he go to an AirBnB or a hotel and that he transition back into both work and home. His therapists at both ST and at home supported this. Throughout his stay Handsome continually tried to manipulate or negotiate his way back home, but I held firm. I wasn’t barring him from seeing our kids or anything like that, and he was welcome at the house whenever he wanted to be there, but he needed to be sleeping elsewhere.

I was reasonably confident that transitioning back to work wouldn’t be an issue for Handsome. He loves his job and he healed pretty completely from his surgeries and injury. Transitioning home, however, was going to be tougher. I wanted to see him have consistently positive interactions with me and with our kids. I wanted to see him put the skills that he allegedly learned at ST to work.  This is where the wheels fell off the bus pretty much from the moment I picked him up at the airport.

Handsome requested steak for dinner the night he returned. I didn’t want to buy it too far ahead and the day or two right before he came home was full of sports practices, doctors appointments, and my job, so I stopped at the grocery store on our way home from the airport. He was really, incredibly put out by that. Absurdly so. He didn’t yell or complain. He just steamed about it. There was no “I’m so happy to see my wife after 5 weeks away” or “I’m glad they’re willing to eat with me” or anything like that. He was ticked that I hadn’t shopped in advance of his arrival. To be clear, he was coming home from rehab, not from conquering ISIS or curing cancer.

The guy who came home is better, in some significant ways, than the guy who left 5 weeks earlier, but worse in others. He does seem to have learned how to manage his anger. That’s huge. He is more insightful into his moods and he can admit when he is disregulated. Again, for him, those are major improvements. BUT…(and this is a big one)… the guy who came home had (at least initially) seemingly lost a ton of empathy for me. He re-framed himself from sex addict to trauma survivor. He decided that 12-step was just too negative and had lost some respect for the program. He seemed to have lost some respect for his therapist and our CSAT.  And those were the obvious changes. There was one other major change that didn’t become apparent right away.

Those initial obvious changes were incredibly anxiety inducing and stressful for me. It’s hard to be supportive when you’re actively being diminished or discounted. Still, as he got a few sessions with Doc 2 under his belt and a few sessions with our CSAT where she got fierce with him, he started to soften. The chip seemed to fall off his shoulder as days passed. He recognized that all of the individual work that he did at ST was terrific for him, but there was little emphasis on working those concepts into a relationship. It wasn’t really ST’s job to teach him how to fix the damage he caused to his family before he left, but the messaging he received (or at least the messaging as he received it) led him to believe he should ignore it and start fresh. Great for him. Less so for everyone else.

Flipping the switch to focus beyond himself was incredibly hard for Handsome. Of course it was, right?  In rehab he hadn’t betrayed anyone. He hadn’t instilled anxiety in anyone. Everyone focused on him and supported him. Within a week of his arrival home, Handsome had a night where he had an appointment with Doc 2 and then he planned to go to an SA meeting. Normally, he’ll call me to chit chat while he’s driving between two places like that. My phone didn’t ring. I can’t explain why, but I just had a really, really bad feeling. For the first time in almost a year I tracked his phone and saw that he was at a bar. Shortly later, he moved on to a second bar.  I didn’t call him. I didn’t text him. I wanted to see if he would reach out to me. He didn’t.

The following morning he stopped by the house and I asked him how the SA meeting was. He stood in our kitchen, looked me in the eye, and told me it was great. I asked him if any of his buddies were there and he told me it wasn’t all that crowded. I thought my heart might literally break open in my chest. I asked him how they managed to find the meeting since it had moved to Bar ____. He had no response. Then he didn’t speak to me for the better part of 4 days. He flat out refused to discuss it.

As this was transpiring, so was something else. Handsome was a part of a group chat of his ST friends. Apparently, whatever addiction issues these folks had transferred over to texting because his phone was pinging constantly whenever I saw him. Handsome is not supposed to text any woman other than me except for work or child care. He knows this. Yet he started texting with a woman from his ST process group and then presented it to me as “she is so helpful to me, you don’t mind, right?” Uh, yeah. I do. And I wasn’t really asked. I was told when it was already going on. That’s a point I made to our therapist. I’m not an unreasonable ass. This woman is both older and a lesbian in a very long term relationship. She was his bestie at ST. If she can be of help to him, and if he isn’t communicating with her to the exclusion of me, I might be open to it. But he never gave me the courtesy of asking. He just broke the boundary and figured I’d get over it.

A week later in therapy I pointed out that he’d still never bothered to have a discussion with me about it. I felt like all of Handsome’s energy was flowing out of our family and into this clique of ST folks. (Not to this one older woman, but rather to the group chat 15+ ST folks had going.) Handsome strenuously denied this, but he couldn’t deny the hundreds of text messages exchanged with them or the fact that he wasn’t in touch with his sponsor, any SA buddies, or even his best friend. In addition, he wasn’t communicating with me about anything other than logistical parent stuff. His whole world revolved around this group. He wasn’t showing any interest in relational healing. Well, that’s not quite accurate. He expressed feeling very sad and lonely and unloved. He said he wanted a good and loving relationship. I didn’t even have to respond to that because the CSAT jumped in and said, “But you haven’t done anything in furtherance of that. You caused a ton of damage but you’ve done nothing to repair it. You have to do more than just show up here and sit on my couch. Do you want this marriage or do you want a divorce? Make up your mind.”  It was a heartbreaking end to the session, but very necessary. He insisted that he wants the marriage, but the next week would call that into question.

 

Part 2: They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said, “No, no, no”

(Missed Part 1 of this series?  You can find it here.) I was told Handsome would be able to call to say he arrived safely at Sierra Tucson, but that was not the case. His phone, along with all of his luggage, was taken immediately upon meeting the ST representative at the airport. He wouldn’t see any of his belongings again till very late the following day, and he wouldn’t see his cell phone again for over a week.

Handsome was in lock-down for the better part of two days after his arrival. It’s mandatory and involved blood testing and urine samples and the like, as well as getting a grip on the medications he came in with and making an initial determination about what might be working and what might need adjustment.  For those with substance addictions I’m sure this serves as a detox period, but for Handsome it was fairly torturous. No tv, no internet, no games, no books, and yet exposure to people coming off their drug of choice and being extremely dis-regulated emotionally. I think he looked at it as something to be endured, and so he did.

This was where Handsome was first exposed to some of the… quirky… rules at ST. For example, Handsome took bandanas to wear on his head during yoga and hikes. They took those from him (presumably to prevent self- harm) yet he was allowed to keep his shoelaces and he actually had extra bed sheets in his room. Another example… if you brought your own dental floss from home a nurse kept it and would dole it out back to you in roughly 2  foot increments, but they sold dental floss in regular packs in the on-site store at ST. Go figure.

After the lock down, Handsome was moved to his lodge. He describes it as a timbered Motel 6. (His accommodations and food service at OnSite in Tennessee last year were considerably more upscale by comparison.) ST had three lodges: all women, all men, and co-ed. As I wrote in a previous post, however, they moved the women who caused too much trouble in the women’s or co-ed lodges into the men’s lodge. Weeks later, I still find that disturbing and baffling. As you might expect, my sex addict spouse had some issues with that.

Once settled in his lodge, Handsome seemed to fall pretty easily into the routine of the facility. The days were incredibly long (6:30 AM to roughly 9 PM with minimal down-time), but Handsome dove in without much complaint. To the extent he complained at all it was mostly about the lack of Coke or Pepsi when coffee and tea was permitted and abundant.

When I say that the days had little down time I want to be clear that Handsome’s day was scheduled thoroughly through that time. He was expected to attend everything he was scheduled for. Failure to appear for a session meant that a team of security folks went looking for you (tracking patients by Fit-Bit-like devices). That said, the common work-around at ST was for folks to go to a session, stay 5-10 minutes, long enough to ensure that they were logged in, and then leave and blow off the remainder of the session. Handsome reports that was pretty typical for about a quarter of the patients there. Usually, but not always, the younger patients who were there on mom and dad’s dime.

From a partner’s point of view, my perception is that the treatment at ST was incredibly holistic. In addition to what you might expect at a rehab, they arranged physical rehab sessions for both an injury he had operated on a few months ago and to address the more recent injury he suffered just after Christmas. They paid close attention to a heart issue he has and would have taken him to be treated by a nearby cardiologist if he hadn’t already been under the care of a cardiologist at home. When he developed a sudden and severe tooth ache, they got him to a local dentist.

Moreover, while the offering of a veterans and first responder’s program was of little consequence to me (Handsome’s trauma is rooted in his family of origin, not his job, although that certainly added to the complex nature of his PTSD), being a participant in the program meant that Handsome could avail himself of treatments that were add-ons or “extras” for everyone else. He could do acupuncture, EMDR, somatic experiencing, equine therapy, and quite a few other things at no additional cost. While he did not find benefit in all of those things, he was at least encouraged to try them to see what might click for him. Some really clicked, and others had no impact at all.

Initially, Handsome was calling home every day, but that was just mentally exhausting for me. I wrote a bit about that here. He frequently wrote to our kids, but not to me. I got one letter the first week and after that, nothing. When we did speak by phone, it was often a disaster. The first two and a half weeks, he sounded like a zombie. I still don’t know if his meds were altered or what the issue was, but he sounded very flat and, frankly, un-empathetic and distant. I cut the calls down to once a week. In week 3, things shifted and he just started sounding like an arrogant douche.

During the calls he never asked me questions about my health or well-being or what was going on at home. He talked a lot about himself and about the “amazing” and “tremendous” people in his group. That was when I learned that his process group was Handsome and one other guy and 6 women. I started to pick up on comments about how I “just wouldn’t understand” something or how his trauma and mine are “a lot alike.” During a session with our CSAT that week, I asked her to call Handsome’s therapist at ST and find out what the heck was going on. I had previously spoken to Handsome’s assigned therapist at ST. I liked her. I thought she was quite insightful about Handsome’s issues, so when it was relayed back to me that she hadn’t considered the possible correlation between the validation Handsome was getting out of his mostly female therapy group and his sex addiction, I was floored.  The more he got comfortable and buddy-buddy with his group, the worse our calls went.

This phenomenon wasn’t unique to me. I don’t complain to our kids about Handsome and I try my hardest for them to see us as a united front. To the extent they have opinions about their dad, those opinions are based on their own experiences with him. Starting in week 2, my 13 year old, who I would generally describe as daddy’s girl, respectfully declined to get on the phone with her dad. She asked me if she had to talk to him. I asked her to please try to talk to him 2x a week and she was reluctant to do even that. She said he was completely uninterested in her, didn’t ask her anything about her, and that the sound of his voice made her sad. I didn’t tell her, but that was my experience on the calls too. Most of them ended with me in tears. It was brutal.

I had an incredible bond with my dad. I think Handsome believes he has a similar relationship with our daughter, but he overestimated it. He glosses over the yelling and the tension in the house while he was fully engaged in his addiction. Both kids noticed how peaceful and calm it was when he was gone. When our daughter basically cut off her calls with Handsome it was a bit of a wake-up he needed. My guess is that somewhere in his mind he believed that even if our marriage ended his kids would never find fault with him. He saw how untrue that assumption was. Our daughter was holding him accountable in her own way and while he was hurt by it, on some level he recognized that he caused it. At the tail end of week 3, there was a huge and noticeable shift.

Handsome started to sound more positive and upbeat. He started making plans for home. He started making a transition plan that would hopefully help him integrate some of his practices from ST into life at home. I heard reports back that he was making significant therapeutic progress and that he was exercising good boundaries. He won an award for his participation in sessions and overall dedication to his recovery at the end of the 4th week.

In spite of the sudden burst of progress, it wasn’t lost on anyone that the three weeks prior were rough. He had to work through a lot of anger and resentment to start actually internalizing the messaging he was receiving. For that reason, and because he had the time off from work and insurance to cover the costs, ST had him stay for an additional week. From a partner perspective, that’s when things started to get a bit dodgy again. …

What do you mean by “a**hole”? – an interlude

After my last post about my husband’s journey to rehab, a newer reader asked me what exactly I meant when I said that my husband was being an a**hole pre-rehab. It’s a good and fair question, because the answer may not be what you might imagine.

Handsome does a lot of things right. He diligently attends marriage counseling. He diligently attends individual therapy twice a week. He goes to 12-step meetings at least once a week. He’s not the guy who denies he’s a sex addict or one who tries to gaslight others about his addiction despite being caught red handed.

He has sought out therapeutic intensives for him and for us as a couple and by all accounts he was cooperative and participated fully and appeared motivated to put what he learned to good use.

He is an involved and caring father. He has tried, with varying degrees of effort and success, to be empathetic towards me and to support me.

All of that is wonderful. And yet this is also a guy who could lose his mind over me taking too long to pick out ice cream at the grocery store. Or shut down and accuse me of having control issues if I ask him a reasonably simple question about our family scheduling. Or reduce both of our kids to tears for no good reason within an hour of them getting off the school bus. On the surface he presents as reasonably fine, but right beneath the surface is a maelstrom. That’s the anger aspect of his a**holery.

There is also a liar, liar aspect. Like many addicts, Handsome is an accomplished liar. As a child, he learned to lie to prevent harm and neglect from his two functionally alcoholic parents, and he honed those skills through his lifetime of addiction. He has been working on regaining his integrity, but there are still times where he lies to me for no apparent reason (in addition to the times he still lies purely for self-preservation purposes). For example, if asked, he might tell me that he talked to his best friend and he might go so far as to tell me something they talked about. Then I’d get a call from that same friend a day or so later asking how Handsome was doing since they hadn’t spoken in weeks. Why the lie? I don’t really care if he spoke to his friend, I was just making conversation. Knowing that he lied, however, is a big deal to me when he’s supposed to be reestablishing his integrity.

Last, there is a distorted reality aspect to his a**holery. For me, this is actually the hardest to deal with because I am so often cast as the enemy in his distortions. Frustratingly, when he’s living inside the distortion, I can’t talk him out of it. Usually our CSAT can, but I cannot. I’m viewed as an untrustworthy enemy in those moments. I offer two examples:

1. Handsome and I both have slightly warped senses of humor. We often laugh about some dark stuff. After he returned home from the hospital following his emergency surgery he was in dire need of a shower. Knowing that soap was likely to sting in his fresh wounds I jokingly said “Hey, watch out for the soap!” (As in “wow, I feel for you because that’s really going to suck…”) He chuckled along with me, as usual, and that was that, I thought. It wasn’t though. He repeated the interaction throughout that day and the next and in each telling my few joking words were painted as increasingly sinister and mean. I literally watched this happen before my eyes. By the time several days passed and we showed up for our weekly CSAT appointment, he told her the story as if I had actually wished him harm. He wasn’t lying or trying to be manipulative in that moment. He had fully convinced himself that I wanted him to be in pain. (How awful that must be to believe your spouse wished you harm?? To talk yourself into a scenario where you can’t tell what’s real?)

And another example…

2. Handsome and I had an argument about something – I don’t recall exactly what – but the argument was heated. It was a good ole’ fashioned argument, but there was no screaming or swearing or name calling. None. And yet he convinced himself that I called him a f**k up. I have never called him that. Ever. (And, let’s be honest, there have been times these last two years where that wouldn’t have been entirely unreasonable.) It has always seemed to me like one of those things that if I said it I would never be able to take it back or apologize enough or make it better, so I have never said those words to him. In his mind, however, he took my displeasure, frustration, and anger that I did express during our discussion and boiled it down to “She called me a f**k up.” Then, he used that as an excuse to shut down all communication for 3 days. He rationalized his withdrawal by inventing an incident that really didn’t occur. It’s kind of like how he used my failure to attend his mom’s funeral as some of the justification for his acting out. (“She doesn’t love me, because if she did she would be here, so she abandoned me.”) Except, I WAS AT THE FUNERAL.

When I write these things down, I know my husband sounds bonkers. I completely understand how absurd these things must be to those who haven’t lived it. And yet I’ve now had over a half dozen different, unrelated therapists tell me that these actions are all indicia of various mood disorders which are all in turn tied to Handsome’s childhood trauma. Does he get to rage, lie and distort just because he had crappy parents? No, he doesn’t. What he gets is to go off to rehab for several weeks to: (1) learn the emotional regulation skills he never learned as a kid, (2) get him on the right medications and on the right dosages that can help him, and (3) dig deep into his family of origin traumas to try to address them.

Part 1: They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said, “No, no, no”

Several weeks ago Handsome headed off to rehab. Not, as you might imagine, for sex addiction. He was sober and not struggling with his sobriety. He was, however, struggling with being an a**hole. Yes, there’s a rehab for that.

When I say that Handsome was not struggling with sobriety, what I mean is that he wasn’t feeling compelled to masturbate, view porn, pic collect, go to massage parlors, or any of the other things he did to act out. He is repulsed by his old, addictive behavior. So what’s the problem? He was struggling mightily with recovery. He was sober, but still not in a good place mentally. On some level, his acting out helped him regulate his emotions.** If you’re used to having an orgasm or two to release your stress when you have a crappy day, what do you do when that’s not readily available? Without the right tools (or willingness to use the tools you have) you bottle that stress up and become miserable. Then you take that misery out on everyone around you.

It’s not that every day with Handsome was awful. Far from it. Good days were often great days. That said, there were enough cruddy days that something had to change. Pre-DDay, Handsome was prone to angry outbursts (never physical, just ranting about whatever he was upset about) and moody. Very moody. In the aftermath of DDay, his temperament improved tremendously, probably because he was terrified and trying to be on his best behavior. You can only fake it for so long though and the moodiness and anger seemed to come back in full force from last May forward.

I admit to tolerating a lot of that before DDay because I foolishly thought it was all some kind of a mid-life crisis passing phase, but I just can’t now. Why? Two reasons: (1) I see clearly the toll his moods have taken on our kids, and (2) I can’t walk on eggshells in my own home. Our kids and I deserve better than that from him. When I met with Doc 2 prior to Thanksgiving, he thought that with two sessions a week he might be able to get Handsome to make some progress with emotional regulation. I was skeptical, but willing to give it a shot. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. We went on a two week vacation over Thanksgiving and he was often a hostile jerk. That was a last straw for me. I told Handsome that either he could go to rehab or one of us needed to move out. When he dragged his feet, I picked a firm date and told him that either he would be getting on a plane that day or I would be packing my car and leaving. I did not run that by our CSAT or waffle about it. I know he was stunned. I know he resented having a line drawn in the sand. I have a feeling he felt betrayed. (Welcome to my world…)

He opted for rehab. There are a million to choose from, but after a good bit of research on our own we opted for Sierra Tucson in Arizona. We picked ST for three primary reasons:
– fully covered by our insurance;
– they have a mood disorder treatment protocol; and
– they have a program for vets and first responders.

Of those 3 factors, the first two were by far the most important to me. Would I have found a way to cough up the money for him to go somewhere? Probably, but I also strongly feel as though we’ve spent a fortune on him already and that comes at the direct expense of everyone else in the family. Not having to pay out of pocket was a huge consideration. (To quantify this, the fees for Handsome’s treatment at ST exceeded $90,000. Of that, we paid $173 for a medical visit he needed off site. The rest was fully covered.) Having him get very specialized care at a highly regarded facility was also incredibly important. There was no point in sending him for treatment if they weren’t equipped to address his particular issues.

In the days right before Handsome departed, he vacillated between being incredibly kind or shockingly mean. When I dropped him at the airport I was truly glad to see him go (and also sad it had come to this). He didn’t say goodbye. He gave me a half-hearted hug and walked into the terminal. I would not have been surprised to find that he changed his ticket and just bailed. He didn’t. He got on the first of his two flights. He called me from his connecting airport in tears. I think it finally hit him that the coming weeks were a Hail Mary to try to save his family. That was, however, the last heartwarming conversation we were to have for many weeks. Things would get much rougher before they got better.

** My dear friend Crazy Kat pegged this too. I swear she is a savant. She would write about how her husband’s addition seemed to help him stay regulated and – for a long time – I just couldn’t relate because my husband seemed so much “better” in his sobriety. It took nearly 18 months, but starting last summer I got to see how hard it truly is for my husband to regulate his emotions and stay on keel without relying on his addictions. This is especially true when it comes to dealing with anything that causes him discomfort or unease. He dealt with those emotions before by tamping them down with alcohol or sex. Absent those things, more recently he often turned to anger and frustration. None of those coping mechanisms are acceptable though, so there was a lot of friction in our home.

Things I wish I knew before my husband went to rehab

I intend to write in detail about my perspective of Handsome’s inpatient experience after he returns home, but in the interim I thought it might be useful to someone to put some of this down in my blog right now. I should clarify up front that although Handsome is a sex addict, he went to inpatient care for his mood disorders, trauma, and to endeavor to manage his medications including new medication for ADHD.

In no particular order, here are things I wish I knew beforehand:

1. I did not know that he would have extensive contact with women. While he is not in an SA program, the fact that he’s a SA is woven throughout the intake materials. The facility did put him in the housing unit for men, but that is also where they put all the women who create too much trouble in the women’s housing unit or the co-ed housing unit. (That fact continues to blow my mind.) His daily group meeting was also 6 women, plus Handsome and one other guy. Handsome is over two years sober, and by the account of his therapist he maintained good boundaries, but I’m told it’s not unusual for these process group folks to keep in contact after they leave. That’s awkward since one of our boundaries involves Handsome not texting, emailing, or calling women outside of work, childcare, or relatives.

2. I did not know how little time he would have to communicate with anyone. I knew he’d be on literal lock down when he checked in, but I figured things would loosen up afterwards. Not really. In the 3rd week he earned the ability to use his cell phone 2x day for about 20 minutes. Given that one of those sessions is when I’m at work and the kids are at school, that leaves 20 min or less a day to read some news, take care of “life stuff”, work, and family. And that’s only if the class he has before his media time ends on time.

3. I did not realize how iffy a discharge date can be. We were under the impression that Handsome was pre-approved for 30 days. Nonetheless, on day 25 the insurer did a review and could have cut off his coverage that day. They didn’t – and in fact they authorized an additional week of treatment – but Handsome watched others in his unit get sent packing early because their insurance ended coverage earlier than expected. (People were pulled out of meals and classes and told “Hey, your insurer cut you off so you can switch to self-pay or you will be discharged right now.” Like pack-your-bag-and-don’t-say-good-bye-to-anyone kind of right now.) My advice? Don’t buy a return ticket that isn’t easily refundable or changeable.

4. I did not know how hard the limited communication he could have with us would be on me (and at least one of my kids). I’m not sure what I expected, but the first two weeks he sounded miserable. Angry. Withdrawn. He actually sounded worse than before he left. I hadn’t expected that, and it was awful and disheartening. I cut our calls down to once a week (just me, he could still call the kids). It didn’t help. I’m not sure if I was expecting to hear something that I didn’t hear or if he was just drugged (they were certainly adjusting his meds regularly) but I ended up being a ball of anxiety after each call. My daughter held out a bit longer and then asked me if she had to do the calls. I asked her to try once a week. Handsome was devastated, but it might have been the wake up he needed because things seemed to turn a corner after that.

5. I did not know what an IOP is. If you’re like me, an IOP is an intensive outpatient program. After an inpatient program, they like to discharge patients to the care of an IOP as a step-down process. Broadly speaking, most are about 3 hours a day, 4 to 5 days a week. It sounds like it would be helpful BUT the burden of finding such a program seemingly falls to the family at home and, to a lesser extent, on the patient’s home therapists. Through my involvement in that research I learned a lesson about the single biggest issue with IOPs. If your loved one is coming out of an inpatient program, especially a good one with highly trained staff, they are likely to be (at best) gravely disappointed and (at worst) possibly set back by the way many IOPs are run. Very often there is no discernment between substance and process addictions so the treatment isn’t individualized. Also, it seems to be the case that much of the care is provided by interns working towards their degrees. After investigating every option within a 50-mile radius of our home, Handsome’s therapists opted to develop a Plan B – a custom plan that they would coordinate among themselves that would involve individual, group, and marriage counseling as well as EMDR.  I am honestly not sure how well this will work, but time will tell.

More to follow…

The Backslide – Anger

Handsome is off at an inpatient rehab. More on that to follow in a week or three.

I’m putting pen to paper because suddenly, I am experiencing my own two-steps-back in my recovery. Even though Handsome did not relapse and he went mostly willingly to rehab, I am angry at him. Like really, really mad as hell. I thought that I had worked through and processed my anger after all of the DDays. I thought that I had worked through and dealt with my anger at all of the screw up and bombs in between. Yes, there were occasional flares of what seemed mostly like exasperation and frustration, but not like this. Yet, this is where I find myself recently.

I’ve noodled it for a few days. Why now? Why is the anger back with such force? I have come up with a few theories:

1. Yes, he’s in a locked down medical facility, but he’s also playing with horses and going on hikes and singing songs around a campfire while I am breadwinner, chef, taxi driver, washer woman, dog walker and homework helper. There’s some resentment there. While I know it isn’t helpful it also isn’t unjustified. He’s the addict and yet the burden of this treatment falls squarely on me and my kids. That sucks.

2. I’ve never really had the luxury of letting my anger come out before. Yes, I cursed at him under my breath and out of earshot of our kids for weeks after DDay 1, but after that life simply had to go on. Our kids needed me to not be a banshee in front of them. My anger took a back seat to preserving our family. Once it became clear he was a sex addict, my anger seemed somewhat inappropriate (you wouldn’t scream at a schizophrenic for their disorder, so how do you scream at a SA, I thought). I’m sure I was angry – I was devastated, so it was surely in that mix – but I shifted to trying to get him appropriate help and giving him space to work his recovery. I marched on and plastered a smile on my face. Life went on. Without him around every day though, it’s like a pressure valve has been released. It’s all coming out. I tried to change our cat litter last week (a task that I’d never done before in my life) and managed to overturn the garbage can and dump dirty litter all over our laundry room. An hour of clean up, bleaching,  and repeated carpet shampooing later and I’m pretty sure that I wished him death in a fire-filled pit of kitty poop hell. I was alone, so the anger poured out without consequence. So did the tears.

3. He simply isn’t here. While it’s clear something is missing, it’s not all bad. Far from it, in fact. Our kids are helping out and literally getting along better than I’ve ever seen them. I’ve rolled up my sleeves and found time to clean and to clear clutter that hadn’t been touched in years. I’ve made such a dent that one thing became evident – Handsome did nothing around our house other than laundry.  Before he fell back into his addiction he would dust and vacuum, polish woodwork, mop and things like that. It’s clear to me that hasn’t happened in forever. Given what I’ve been able to accomplish in a few weekends on my own even with working full time + and all my other inherited tasks, any reason he has for not helping is pure BS. I always gave him the benefit of the doubt about being busy (among other things) but the reality is that it’s just another example of how I made my needs small to cater to him. I am dedicated to ensuring that doesn’t happen again.

That is what I think leads to the main root of my anger. I am living a nice, normal, hectic but happy life right now. With Handsome temporarily out of the picture I see clearly how devastating his behavior was both during the throes of his addiction and at the lowest points during his recovery. I am happier and less lonely than I was for the last six months, and yet HE IS NOT HERE. I miss him, but not the “him” I’ve seen since last May, and certainly not the “him” I saw during his acting out.

What I thought was tolerable when I was in the fish bowl with him is clearly intolerable from outside. Addicts can suck all of the oxygen out of a room and, in our case, I see how much he sucked out of this family. I’m really angry at him for that, but  I am almost equally mad at myself that I couldn’t see that in real time and that I allowed it to happen.

Before Handsome left for rehab I made it clear that upon discharge he wouldn’t be coming straight home. He can spend a week or three in a tiny AirBnB or economy hotel while he reintegrates into his job and our family. He needs to meld to our new normal. Not the other way around. One good thing to come from this anger is a hard commitment by me to ensuring that things don’t go back to the way they were before.

Support or Sabotage re: Sex Addiction

I recently stumbled across a site called sisterhoodofsupport dot org .  I’m not going to link to it because you can find it yourself if you want to after reading this. I am actually speechless. If you all knew me in real life you would understand how monumental that is. I literally argue for a living.

I don’t know the woman who runs the site, but someone clearly peed in her Cheerios at some point. She claims “By 2011 my [old] website marriedtoasexaddict dot com was bursting at the seams. Tens of thousands of women visited the site each month and were asking for a private place to discuss their experiences. They needed a place away from the prying eyes of the public and their families. A place where they could feel safe sharing the most intimate details of their ordeals with others who understood. In February of 2011 The Sisterhood of Support was Launched.” Hmmmm… “tens of thousands of readers” (a claim she states more than once) yet only a few comments and no substantive back and forth discussions on posts. And, in spite of the name of her old site and the mission of her new site, she flat out denies that sex addiction is real.

I’m actually marginally okay with the addiction deniers. There are crazy people everywhere and as long as they don’t force me to join them, they can do as they please. I am, however, indignant when someone with no applicable expertise tries to pass themselves off as an expert. The author/host backs up her opinions by stating “Because of my medical background I also bring a vast amount of scientific research.” Oh really?  She was (is?) a nurse. Nurses are awesome. My mom was a nurse. I love nurses. I am, however, unaware of any RN degree that comes with a psychiatry or psychology degree, or even a deep dive in the DSM. According to the site her medical background seems to have been in hospice care. There is  no peer reviewed research on her site. None. And yet she makes proclamations like this:

It’s one thing to tell a Partner “Hey, nothing is for certain. He might relapse. He might not.” That would be fair. Telling someone to bail upon the discovery of their spouse’s acting out because “long term change simply does not happen” and using one’s “medical background” as some indicia of authority or expertise??? That is seriously screwed up.

I’m 25 months out from my first DDay. Had I found that site back then? Holy crap. And sadly, the few stories that accompany the blog posts are heart breaking. Partners are reaching out, looking for facts and support, and what they are getting is nothing more than doom and gloom. She somehow manages to make ChumpLady look like Little Suzie Sunshine by comparison. I’m surprised she doesn’t accept ads from divorce lawyers.

To be clear, I don’t think that any partner of a sex addict should be hoodwinked into any assurance that their spouse will recover or that they will stay sober. I also don’t think anyone should put all their marbles in the “my marriage is so much better post-affair” hopper. Maybe it will be, maybe it won’t be. It all depends on what it was truly like beforehand and how much work both parties put in post-discovery and every day of your life thereafter. To me it is also true that there is a sex addiction industry blossoming that includes a number of questionable practitioners and methodologies. That said, the mantra of “Abandon hope, all who enter here… [insert wailing sounds]” seems a bit hysterical. And like sour grapes.

I agree with her that there is a lack of peer reviewed research on sex addiction and the benefits (or lack thereof) of certain treatment methods. Her position that data can’t come from surveys or statements from the addicts themselves, however, would invalidate almost all studies of psychological and psychiatric issues, including those regarding betrayed spouses. There is no objective, observable measure of my trauma, for example. You have to ask me about it and I have to tell you or describe it to you. A researcher would need to depend on me to be truthful and/ or build in a margin of error to account for untruths. The author/ host simply can’t have it both ways: citing Dr. Minwalla on one hand (whose own research involves partner interviews), and yet undermining and invalidating addict interviews on the other.

I fully and freely acknowledge that my own husband may fall flat on his face and our marriage may end. Only time will tell. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t think Handsome knows for sure either even though he would bet the farm that he won’t relapse. That being said, this “expert” certainly doesn’t know – or have any legitimate basis to know – and is in no position to make these absurdly definitive proclamations.

When You Can’t Catch a Break

To be clear, the guy in the photo above isn’t Handsome, but it might as well have been him.

When we last left off, Handsome was scoping out rehab centers for a 30-day inpatient stay. We had basically reached the point where he either needed another leap forward or we needed some kind of a therapeutic separation for my sanity. He’s sober, but not in good recovery otherwise. By Christmas Eve he had his choices narrowed down to two rehab centers. We had a lovely Christmas.  On the 26th he learned that our insurance will pay for 100% of either rehab center. All that was left was to pick a location and book a plane ticket. Cool.

But also way, way too simple. And NOTHING is ever simple these days. I should have seen the storm clouds moving our way on the horizon…

Handsome thoughtfully decided to get a few chores done around the house before vanishing for 4 weeks. One task involved changing the light bulb in the decorative fixture over our foyer stairs. The light is about 2 stories over the closest landing. There is no good, safe way to remove the glass shade and change the bulb, except possibly driving a rented cherry picker or bucket truck onto the lawn and coming in through a window. Opting not to do that, Handsome tried to stand on the railing of the stairs as he has done other times. This time he lost his balance… with the glass shade in his hand. (Yep, start cringing here… you see where this is going…) He basically fell 2 stories ONTO the glass shade.

I was at work. How do I learn of this? By this text from my 10 year old:

So I call Handsome and my hysterical 13-year old answers the phone. I knew it was bad when she told me that Handsome told her to call 911. (This is a guy who would try to drive himself to the ER in almost any kind of emergency.) Two ambulances and a trip to our nearby Level 1 trauma center later, and he is taken into surgery within hours to clean and close the  wounds to his arm and abdomen. He was exceedingly lucky as no major organs were damaged and he didn’t break any bones.

So, in some ways, perfect time to go to rehab, right? Can’t exactly go skiing or even to work. Nope. Apparently he will not be accepted at rehab until his sutures are removed in about two weeks. We’re working on seeing if there is any flexibility on that issue, but if that remains the case a 30-day stay won’t be possible. He’ll have exhausted his available leave and will be just a few days short of the full 30 he needs.

This was an awful accident that could have been much, much worse. I’m relieved that Handsome is home and healing and nothing is broken or severely damaged. I’m sad for Handsome that he’s hurting. I’m also sad that what seemed to be coming together so well for his recovery is at risk of being blown out of the water. It was a big step for him to commit to a 30-day inpatient stay. Having it fully paid for is amazing. I’d hate to see that opportunity disappear. The implications – for both of us – are serious and material. We were both counting on this to help us. It’s not how I wanted to roll into 2020. Please send some good vibes our way in the hope that we can get this all sorted out.

I hope everyone has a safe, healthy, and Happy New Year!